A Bead of Silver
by ThePotterMalfoyProblem
Summary: A short bittersweet tale of love that lasts through time, told through the eyes of Frodo Baggins. Thorin/Bilbo (Thilbo) SLASH Rated T because people think relationships are controversial. Only a slight bit angsty, I promise. *bookverse*


Author's Note: I don't own shit, so there.

ALSO: BE WARNED: This is SLASH. Light slash, more like slashy tendencies, but it is Bilbo/Thorin. Turn back now if it is not your cup of tea. You have been warned.

Third: There is no particular reason this is my only fanfic, I am working on some others, I just got bit by the Thilbo bug. Sorry.

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Frodo rarely found his uncle to be odd. What was normal for other hobbits did not suit him. So what if he took long walks by himself? He had always done that. So what if he secluded himself away? Did he not have a right to privacy?

But there was one thing that Frodo found to be a peculiarity with his uncle. For as long as he could recall, Bilbo had kept his hair as long as a lass'. By the time Frodo was old enough to note that this was unusual, Bilbo's hair reached the middle of his shoulder blades, and he kept it back with a bit of ornately braided leather that looked suspiciously like dwarf-make.

Frodo only asked about his uncle's hair once. Just curiously, when he was a middling tween, and not in a judging way at all. But Bilbo had glared at Frodo, his normally soft eyes hardening, and told him it was none of his business. That evening, Frodo pretended not to hear the muffled sobs coming from his uncle's room. He ignored the dark circles under Bilbo's eyes the next morning and never asked again.

As he grew older, Frodo noted other things about his uncle's hair. The weight of the hair kept it from being as curly as other hobbits' hair. The underside of his hair was not, as Frodo had thought when he was a child, caked and gross, but instead was intricately braided, almost like the braids of the dwarves that occasionally visited. And underneath it all, if one looked closely, was a single silver bead. It was not large, but was intricately carved. Frodo knew this because one time Bilbo had fallen asleep by the fire, and Frodo had peeked under his uncle's hair to get a closer look at the novelty that was the braids and the bead.

But Bilbo never talked about it, Frodo did not ask. People in Hobbiton-Bywater ridiculed his uncle for it, Frodo knew. More than once, Bilbo had locked himself in his study when returning from town and come out hours later with red, puffy eyes.

But he never cut his hair.

And then Bilbo was gone. Frodo did not see him again for 17 years, and when he did, he almost did not recognize him. He was older, stouter, and his hair was cropped off, white and the braids gone.

Save for one. A single braid that ran behind his right ear. And on the end, a single silver bead.

Frodo did not ask. Bilbo never said. But he wore the bead with pride, now. Frodo noted that before it had almost seemed like shame when people saw the bead.

Another few years passed, the ring broke Frodo, and he and his uncle boarded the grey ship. As they sat on the deck, watching the mainland grow dim in the distance, Frodo noticed Bilbo smiling faintly and twisting the bead between his fingers.

A few days passed, and the grey rain curtain parted, the land beyond revealed. Bilbo had shed years in a few hours, his hair regaining its color, his wrinkles fading away save for a few laugh and frown lines on his face. He looked much like the Bilbo of Frodo's youth, save for the shorter hair. He paced agitated on the deck of the ship, and as soon as it docked, jumped over the side and ran down the wooden dock.

Frodo watched, bewildered, as his formerly stoic uncle threw himself into the arms of a waiting dwarf who held him close and planted a soft kiss in his uncle's hair, one hand tugging softly on the beaded braid.

Gandalf came up beside Frodo then, noted the perplexed expression on the Hobbit's face. "That is Thorin. He made the bead you have been eyeing since you were a lad. It's a dwarvish tradition, a sign of betrothal. He gave it to your uncle as he lay in his deathbed, never hoping that Bilbo would keep it. But Bilbo mourned him in the dwarvish fashion, uncut hair and hidden bead, until he returned to Rivendell, old and broken. There he learned that love never ends in death, but is merely postponed for a short time. Now, he is finally happy."

And life began anew.

Frodo never finds his uncle to be odd. What was normal for other hobbits did not suit him. So what if he was married to a dwarf? It was not really anybody's business. So what if he went on long walks with said dwarf and returned pink cheeked and rumpled? It was love, it didn't matter.

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AN: Please be so kind as to leave a review. Reviews make the world sparkle with cupcakes and unicorns. Or, if that isn't your style, reviews prompt more stories. Maybe this from another point of view. Hint hint hint.


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